Where our arguments lead

We were like two ships in the night with a vast ocean separating us,

We’ll be in same sea, on the same journey but never meeting in between

a flicker in the light from your deck is all I can see,

The waves roll on swaying across the dark unknown

spilling fear and mystery,

I look to your light,

waiting and praying the flicker grows warmer and stronger, closer to mine

Alas, the storm rages on dividing our two ships with no means to an end.

Both lost,

both afraid,

and both stuck away from each other with no way back.

 

Sometime during age 27 I stopped feeling invincible

In the past year, I entered my “late twenties” and I felt this shift in my mentality.
During my late teenage years, I was still holding onto something that made me feel like superwoman similar to Clark Kent. Invincible to illness, superhuman powers that kept me from dying normal human deaths and so on…

“I can do anything”- Is this the dubbed millennial disease our baby boomer parents unintentionally conditioned my cohorts into believing? We’re raised to believe we had the power to achieve anything we set our mind to. We could enjoy life, eat that gold leafed cake, and realize ultimate work life balance.

And so from that conditioned philosophy of invincibility, I thought death was a foreign intangible far-off land until the past year it hit me like an anvil slamming from overhead.

The shift was slow but insidious. I  noticed not “saving” expensive things anymore so not to exhaust its use. For example, not always bringing out the expensive Louie I had in a cloth bag, not always wearing that Cartier my dad bought as a last gift to his baby girl before she entered true adulthood, and not spending money on things I wanted because those meaningless digits in my bank account needed to be there to remind me of my hard work and where it needs to be invested for a decent future.

Another small and almost forgettable thing I did this morning was use this nail polish I loved but hardly let breath. It has this beautiful iridescent shimmer I vowed to only use on “special occasions.” But what stemmed this fear of having to “save” things so not to use them up? Why was I saving them as though I believed like time, I’ll be around forever?

The sad part is, this past year, I unconsciously made moves as though I wouldn’t. The Louie has seen more action than it did all the previous years combined. The shimmering nail polish that sat in a basket has been brushed over and over on my nail beds.

Somehow in my subconscious, I started to treat myself better. Stopped saving for that rainy day because I’m not invincible and some unfortunate event could cause me to not see this rainy day. I worked hard for the “fun coupons” to purchase these commodities. The best way to treat myself is to use it. I’m not invincible and certainly don’t feel it anymore. The magic dust all feathered away and I need to feel better about living everything to its fullest. That means finishing the bottle of nail polish, bringing Louie to casual events, and wearing my Cartier proud.

I grew up ugly & stupid

His friends used to call me ugly.

She kept telling me I was too dumb.

Their extended family would mistake me for a boy because I didn’t have feminine enough features.

Her coworkers would snicker because they felt their kids were smarter and more cunning.

I grew up being told I was ugly.

I grew up being told I was stupid.

She used to make me feel worthless. She used to yell at me like I ruined her life. She would say all my friends manipulate me because I’m too nice and dumb to notice.

I had a childhood friend growing up. Let’s call her Tilly. Tilly was always smarter because she was one year older. But Mother would tell me everyday that I’ll never amount to Tilly.

“Tilly is going places.” She’d say. “I bet she’ll end up at a better college than you.”

“Tilly is stronger.”

“Tilly wins at all these games you play because you’re too stupid to anticipate her moves.”

It wasn’t easy being told I wasn’t pretty for a girl.

It wasn’t easy having a mother resent me for being stupid.

But as I sit here two decades later looking at the place I bought for myself close to the Cali beach. I wonder, is this enough to prove to my mother I’m more than what she’d lost hope in?

Tilly now works in retail and still lives at home with her parents.

So, why do I still cry thinking about my upbringing? I can still hear every remark from her ricochet from my memory, cutting me like bullets from deep within.

Why does she hate me so much?

If I can’t even trust my mother to love me, how do I trust someone to enter my life without hurting me?

Am I still so broken?

There’s a reason I feel safe living alone. Isolated. Single.

No one can tell me I’m ugly or stupid. No words can hurt me here.

 

Destined to be the other woman

I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer.
At night I fell asleep with visions of myself, dancing and laughing and crying with them.
Three years down the line of being on an endless world tour, and my memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times.
I was a singer. Not a very popular one,
I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken.
But I didn’t really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it to know what true freedom is.
When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I’d been living, they asked me “Why?”, but there’s no use in talking to people who have home.
They have no idea what it’s like to seek safety in other people, for home to be wherever you lay your head.
I was always an unusual girl.
My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean…
And if I said I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way I’d be lying…
Because I was born to be the other woman.
Who belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone.
Who had nothing, who wanted everything, with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about it, and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.

Lana Del Rey.

Ride

What if I’m destined to be the other woman? It breaks me to even have to question this but for the longest time I’ve asked myself why. Why is it that I’m not with him? Picking up groceries holding hands, planning long lead vacations on a crisp Sunday morning, and even sitting down each night with the same person breaking bread? I don’t mean that I’m the other woman to a man who’s married or even in another relationship. I just mean that I’m not the woman he spends his life with. I’m the phase. I’m the adventure until he wants steady.

It’s like I’m fucking diseased with a big fat scarlet letter slapped across my forehead that I’m not perceived as someone good enough. Someone that’s priority. Someone that he sees valuable enough to dedicated a meaningful friendship. Aside from my name, does he even know how I like my coffee? Or which way I always turn to sleep?

I don’t belong to anyone which made me belong to everyone.

Drink after drink, mistake after mistake. I reflect on the patterns and see nothing’s ever right. Bad decisions follow me like the plague, and I ride each of those waves only for a momentary gratification. The high from an addiction, telling myself I’ll be good after this one last hit.

Morning comes and he’s still in my bed; sleeping away without a care in the universe. He wakes up, holds me for a minute and walks out the door with his things.

The text doesn’t come for a few weeks, but then one night when I think I’m back on my routine, my phone beeps and I’m back here again asking myself why.

9.17.2017 I’m Back

I’m starting to think my blog needs an overhaul and tons and tons of TLC… truth be told I’m not a great designer so this might be a long journey.

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These days, I’m treating myself better now that I’m 2 months post-breakup and soaring new sights with these unclipped wings.

I recently finished out the Young Elites trilogy by Marie Lu., which motivated me to really want to start writing again. I want to take a moment and praise Lu’s character arc for Adelina. It was so raw and powerful to see the transformation. Without spilling too much, Adelina is the human we all are. There are times we’re filled with rage and no sense of logic can block the warpath were on, and at other times we put on the brave face and wear strength on our sleeves even though we’re dying a miserable death on the inside. Adelina portrays the emotions we’ve all had growing up, especially when faced with sudden betrayal. I love that she is someone you hate and love. She is a hero and a villain in her own right. It’s a beautiful piece and a quick read because you’ll find it hard to put down! (For those who’ve already read this series, I’ve started on Warcross and so far it’s out of this world ~literally~) 

So from there, I want to start treating my blog as a second job and go after my dreams: create stories and characters that are multiple facades of who I am. Then share it here to inspire others or just provide those with a curiosity for my narratives a decent read.

It took me months after scoring my double pirouette to be steady with a triple and just like ballet training, if I keep writing every day, I’ll get better. I’ll feel better. And I’ll have the confidence to share my short stories.

First one up? Check out the link to Unclipped Wings. It’s a short story I wrote in 2013. Stay tuned bloggers! 🙂

 

 

So…I suck at adulting.

I’m jaded.

Why do I feel like the only place I can find solace is my chair, my breakfast bar, and this iMac? The world is racing by at a million miles per hour and I don’t feel a thing.

Why don’t I feel anything anymore? Lately, I can’t seem to enjoy anything in my life.  All the vices that used to fuel my blood now appears lackluster. What would be a wild Friday night has transformed into a quiet space for only me and my computer.

Do we all just grow tired of the same old bullshit and become numb to emotions? I mean really, don’t we all grow tired of going out to the bar once the weekend hits? Wake up with the same old annoying bitch of a hangover. Get hype again Saturday, have same basic brunch and mimosas on Sunday, and then the anxiety of work week starts all over again.

Am I so jaded by the disappointment of growing up, getting a mortgage and sitting at a mind numbing sedentary corporate slave house that I no longer have anything left to hope for?

I have no idea what’s left in store for me. I got so spoiled to the life of waiting for the semester to end before I traveled to my next destination during summer vacation that I find myself still in the mindset something will turn up and save me from this hole.

So what am I waiting for now? What are we all waiting for?

adulting: describes acting like an adult or engaging in activities usually associated with adulthood—often responsible or boring tasks.

L | EPHANT